


Alone at Night....

by arda_fata



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dead People, F/M, Nightmares, Psychic Bond, Rough Kissing, Wet Dream, does that apply?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 07:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2539628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arda_fata/pseuds/arda_fata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had already dreamed this, but never before had she reached destiny within this labyrinth of her mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone at Night....

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is a draft.
> 
> What the character see is just a stage, not my interpretion of the Halls of Mandos
> 
> For those of you that are interested in how this story follows, see my story "Dark Desire". Thank you.
> 
> :))

Where was she? Why were all these people in chains in these small niches on both sides of the hallway?

 

And always elves… always, everywhere she looked. And they seemed dead but their bodies were not decaying. As if they were some monstrous collection of her father’s people that would wake upon command.

 

“Astrid…” someone was calling again.

 

A warm masculine voice that sent shivers down her spine. A voice that called to her not in her ears, but in her mind, her soul, in the very beat of her heart.

 

“Astrid…” insisting always that she kept going, until she found the right niche. She couldn’t stop walking until she got there.

 

She didn’t like it; she loathed this particular dream that took her this catacomb like labyrinth where she had to find someone.

 

“Come…” it called and she began to run. To find him? To escape? To release him? Why?

 

Faces and more faces passed her way. None that she knew, one or two she had seen only in the ancient paintings that decorated the home she and her brother still held, stubbornly, against everything, but for the most, they were strangers.

 

“Where are you?” she called, hopelessly, since he likely couldn’t hear her, he was likely as dead as the rest of them.

 

Some weird instinct told her to turn and she sped up and began to take turns when she felt a particular pull from this or that corner.

 

And then she had to grab the bars from one niche at the end of one long hallway to avoid crashing face first into it.

 

And she had found _him_.

 

Dead as the rest seem to be.

 

Extremely tall, and covered in all kind of scars. His face and torso and arms were covered in them. His legs were in no better condition.

 

His hair is a shiny shade of red she can’t help but admire as it falls in a wavy silky curtain all the way past his wide shoulders to his narrow waist.

 

He looked like someone had tried to make a puzzle out of him, and yet he was extremely handsome. The square jaw, and the thin lips, the elegant thin nose and strong eyebrows that make him look a little bit intimidating were just perfectly balanced.

 

A silly giggle escapes her as she thinks that in spite of the scars, his face is symmetric.

 

But his hands are not. One is lacking and she wonders why.

 

She admired the wide shoulders and the defined muscles in his arms and torso. Sweet Varda, wasn’t he gorgeous to behold?

 

And then he opened eyes without warning, and his strong hand wrapped around her wrist.

 

“Eleniel…” he mumbled as she got lost into his eyes, as shiny as gray pearls. His voice rumbled through his chest and left a warm feeling around her, like soft caress around her neck.

 

The chains released him and he began to lower his head to hers. His gaze was smoldering and attracted her like a moth to the flame.

 

A soft gasp escaped her right before he claimed her lips through the bars with a passion and skill she could only dream existed in fantasy. He tasted of wildness, and power, and danger.

 

He was possessive and fervent in his kiss. _Mine!_ His voice seemed to scream in her mind; _My own! At last you have come to me… you’re mine and mine alone._ Instinctively she knew that for the bars he’d claim her then and there.

 

And she’d be more than happy to let him.

 

She instinctively tried to press herself to him through the bars. Her lips being bitten, her tongue chewed on. He captured her lower lip between his teeth and pulled softly.

 

“What?!” she screamed as she jumped awake and ran her eyes around the room she was in…

 

She was home… she was in bed, alone.

 

The black silk sheets curled around her waist and covered her legs, the black and blue comforter was on the floor next to the bed.

 

“Just a dream, nothing more…” she gasped as she slid out of bed, placing her feet in the cold dark wood boards of the floor.

 

She turned on the bedside lamp and a golden glow illuminated the room.

 

It was empty but for her.

 

Astrid sighted and picked up the comforter, throwing it on the bed before leaving through the side door that guided to the bathroom.

 

She turned on the lights on and eyed the place carefully before entering, glaring at the Victorian porcelain tube. “Stupid dream, stupid pizza leftovers.” She mumbled before turning to look at herself in the mirror.

 

She gasped, shocked as she saw her face.

 

Her lips were rosy red, as if after a thorough kiss.

 

What frightened her, however, was the purplish bite mark beginning to form on her lower lip.


End file.
